


Lost and Found

by sunsetmog



Series: Married young [2]
Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: AU, M/M, Married young, Not!Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-18
Updated: 2011-07-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not!fic. In which Spencer proposes on Brendon's eighteenth birthday. Getting back together is a beginning, not an ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sunsetmog.livejournal.com/565891.html) in July 2011. Not!fic.

Brendon can't stop kissing Spencer, running his hands through Spencer's hair, pulling him even closer, sliding his hands under Spencer's shirt. Spencer's the same, hands everywhere, pushing him back against the wall of Brendon's hallway. 

"Fuck," Spencer says, "we have to talk."

"I know," Brendon says. "Can we just—can we do it later?"

"Yeah, _yeah_ ," Spencer says, nodding against Brendon's mouth, and then they're stumbling down the hallway and into Brendon's bedroom, and they're shrugging their clothes off and kneeling clumsily down on to the bed, still kissing. It's been way too long. Like, five years too long. Brendon wants to touch him everywhere, and he does, just in case this is the only time he gets to do this. He slides his tongue down Spencer's chest, going for his dick, and Spencer holds him there, hands in his hair. Afterwards, Spencer slides his dick in between Brendon's thighs as Brendon fumbles for his lube, trapping Spencer's dick between his legs once he's all lubed up. Fuck, it feels good as Spencer starts to move, and they used to _love this._ Brendon's never met anyone else who has sex like this, and he wants to cry out, it feels so fucking good. 

They lay tangled up in each other's arms afterwards, breathless and panting.

~*~

"We should talk," Brendon says, later on. They're eating pizza, naked, on the couch.

Spencer nods, dropping his pizza slice back down onto the plate. "Just—" he says. "You did the wrong thing. In leaving like that. Back then."

Brendon feels like all the breath's been squeezed out of his chest, even though this isn't exactly news. "I wanted—" he says. "I wanted more for you than I could give you."

"I didn't want that," Spencer says. "You forgot to ask what I wanted."

"You would have said you didn't need to go to college," Brendon says. 

"Yeah," Spencer says, fixing his gaze. "That's what I would have said. And that was the choice I made and you should have respected that."

"But—" Brendon says. He wishes he'd never left, that he'd never spent a minute away from Spencer in all these years apart, but he doesn't wish that Spencer had never gone to college. "I don't regret that you went to college," he says, finally. 

"I know," Spencer says. "I don't regret that I went. But—you took my choices away from me, B. All of them, and you broke my heart doing it. That was like—I trusted you, and you hurt me. That's what I'm saying."

"I know," Brendon says, and he feels like he's going to throw up. He feels like the worst person in the world. 

Spencer curls his hand in to Brendon's, and Brendon looks up in surprise. He's shaking. "You did the wrong thing," Spencer says, "but you did it for the right reasons."

"I wanted you to have the best life," Brendon says, and he didn't realize before this moment that he was crying, but he is. He wipes his nose with the back of his hand. 

"I know," Spencer says. "Where did you live after you left me?"

Brendon shrugs. "Here and there," he says, which doesn't include the two nights he spent sleeping on benches in train stations, scared and alone, trying to figure out where the fuck to go and what the fuck to do. 

"Brendon," Spencer says. "What did you do?"

"Waited tables," Brendon says. "Stacked shelves. Moved boxes. Picked fruit. Then I met Pete and got the job on the movies, and the rest is history." He's never telling Spencer about how scared he was, that whole time. How alone. 

Spencer wraps his arms around Brendon's neck. "I love you, but you don't get to make decisions about my life, okay? We talk about this stuff. We decide together. And then we live with the fucking consequences of our joint decisions, okay?"

"Got it," Brendon says, but his voice shakes. 

"I'm not going anywhere," Spencer says. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Me neither," Brendon says, hugging Spencer back. "Never again."

"Good," Spencer says, and kisses him again.

~*~

"You have a drum kit," Spencer says, pushing open the door to the bedroom and interrupting Brendon getting dressed.

"Yes," Brendon says. "It isn't new."

"How come I never noticed you had a drum kit?"

"I don't know," Brendon says, pulling up his shorts. "It was always there. In the music room."

"I thought that was a closet," Spencer says. 

"It's a music room," Brendon says. 

"I know that _now_ ," Spencer says. "Can I have a turn?"

Brendon grins. "Only if I can listen."

"You can play along," Spencer says, sliding his hand around Brendon's waist and tugging him close. "If you can keep up, that is."

Brendon leans in and bites Spencer's earlobe, grinning around Spencer's hum of approval. "I like a challenge," he says.

~*~

"Why are you going on this TV show again?" Spencer says, leaning against the wall as Brendon darts from room to room, tugging open cupboard doors.

"DVD release of the second movie," Brendon says, from inside the closet. "Have you seen my white shirt?"

It's a crappy chat show, and Brendon knows it, but he's like, fifth or sixth billing on this movie franchise and the fifth and sixth billed actors get to go on the crappy daytime chat shows and talk about the DVD release and build up momentum for the third film, which is finally in post production. Pete Wentz is doing the late night shows, and Brendon gets the afternoon ones, which is fine by him. He doesn't actually like doing publicity all that much. 

"I've never seen a TV show being recorded before," Spencer says. He's got off work especially, and Brendon's grateful for the company. 

"It's really fucking dull," Zack says, coming up behind him with Brendon's shirt in his hand. "Here you go, B. Put this on. We need to leave."

"Just coming," Brendon says, and he presses a kiss to Spencer's jaw as he pushes past him and out into the hallway. 

So the thing is, they're late to the TV studio. Traffic is awful and there's a line at the studio gates and by the time Brendon gets inside, they're running short of time and Brendon is rushed off to make up without even getting a chance to say goodbye to Spencer and Zack. He's rushed from make up to the green room and then two minutes later the cameras are rolling and Brendon's being pushed out onto the set and into the matronly arms of Clarissa Lefcourt, the host. The first couple of minutes are pretty standard, the same old questions that Brendon always gets asked at these things. He imagines Spencer standing at the edge of the set, watching him, and something warm flip-flops in his chest. His _husband_. 

Brendon's half way through telling a funny, exaggerated story about Pete falling over a dog on set when Clarissa hisses in a breath, hand to her chest. Brendon stumbles to a halt, and tries to remember that this is _live_ television. "Um—"

"I can't help but notice—sorry for interrupting your story, Brendon—but, excuse me for asking, is that a wedding ring you're wearing?"

_Oh, shit_. 

"Um," Brendon says, looking down. "Yes?" It's his original wedding ring, the one from when they were eighteen. He'd kept it all this time, even though he knew that Spencer hadn't, and he'd put it on last week and had meant to take it off. He _had_ meant to take it off. He remembered Spencer holding his hand in the car, thumb rubbing over the silver, looking at him and smiling. 

"I didn't know you were married, Brendon," Clarissa says. "Is this a new development? Is there a romance you want to tell us about?"

"I've been married for a while," Brendon says, hoping that his desperation doesn't show on his face. "But we split up. We're back together now. That's new."

"Oh, _really_ ," Clarissa says, with the barely concealed glee of one aware that she's just uncovered something that is actually a story. Normally the likes of Clarissa Lefcourt get fifth-billed movie actors talking about DVD releases. Brendon might be far down the cast list but he's also a friend of Pete Wentz and actually in the magazines. And Brendon's marriage is _news_. "How long have you been married?"

"Since I was eighteen," Brendon says. "We're very happy." He sends a brief, momentary glance towards the side of the set. 

"Awww," Clarissa says. "And what's her name?"

Brendon swallows. "His name's Spencer," he says, and waits for the sky to fall.

~*~

He fully expects Spencer to break up with him as soon as he gets off set, because this was Brendon making another decision about their future without discussing it with Spencer, but Spencer just wraps his arms around Brendon's shoulders and kisses him. "I'm so proud of you," he says, cupping Brendon's jaw in his palm. "You were awesome."

"You're not breaking up with me for outing us?" Brendon says, voice shaking. "I meant to take my ring off."

"I told you I was in this. That I didn't care if the press knew I was married to you. I love that you wear that ring."

"Oh, fuck," Brendon says, and kisses him again.

That's the picture that one of the interns gets with her camera phone, and that's the picture that's in all the magazines the following week.

~*~

The strangest outcome of outing himself on cable television is that Pete signs Brendon and Spencer to his record label. That, Brendon hadn't seen coming. He hadn't even _known_ that Pete had a record label. Or that Pete knew that what he and Spencer were doing in the music room was more than just messing around with the drum kit. They had _actual songs_.

"It's new," Pete says. "You want to be on it?"

"Well, sure," Brendon says. "Let me talk to my husband about it and we'll get back to you."

"Awesome," Pete says. "Talk to _your husband_ and get back to me."

"Stop making fun of us," Brendon says, laughing. "We're young and in love, shut up."

"Sure you are," Pete says. "And you both need to stop worrying about whether they're going to kill you off in the next movie and do something new." 

Brendon rolls his eyes. He knows they're going to kill him off in the next movie. They're going to kill him off in the opening scenes and then have him in one flashback in the fifth film and that's going to be it, his contractual obligations technically fulfilled. You don't get to come out like Brendon did, and marry a guy, without it having some effect on your movie career. Brendon never bought into that shit anyway. This was never a career. He was doing something he loved, and he'd do that whether he was famous or not. He can do local theatre and play open mic nights and sing to Spencer in the shower. "I've worked shitty jobs before," he says. "I'll do it again, and I can play fifth farmer in the local production of Oklahoma. I don't mind. I'm not buying into this homophobic bullshit." Brendon really doesn't mind. It's disappointing, sure, but he's been lonely and miserable and drinking by himself for five years and he doesn't do that anymore. He feels better about himself than he has in years. He's already done a million interviews with gay positive organizations and is working with a gay advocacy group working on a project with gay teens. He's going to fight this shit but he's not going to let it drag him down to where he was before. He's happy. There will be other movies and other plays and things will change. The magazines print pictures of him and Spencer hand in hand outside Starbucks, and buying cereal in the grocery store and of Spencer kissing his temple outside a restaurant. They print those pictures and talk about them as a married couple and Brendon will take that. Every interview Pete gives, too, he's talking about his good friend Brendon and his awesome husband. He's bigging up their music, too, talking about them like they're a band and not just the two of them having the best time in the studio. 

"I didn't know we were a band," Spencer says, coming in with coffee and a magazine with Pete's latest interview in it. "Pete says we're a band."

"We could be," Brendon says, after hanging up on Pete. "Pete wants to know if he can sign us to his label."

"Huh," Spencer says, letting Brendon tumble down onto the couch next to him and steal some of his coffee. "Really? We should probably think of a name, then."

Brendon's face curves into a grin. "You want to?"

"You and me against the world, Brendon," Spencer says, and Brendon laughs, one hand over his mouth. 

"I love you," he says, and Spencer kisses him.

~*~

They call themselves Panic! at the Disco, which is the name of the band that he and Ryan and Spencer had before Ryan had gone off to college and Brent had fucked off and he and Spencer had gone off to get married.

"May as well start as we mean to go on," Spencer says. 

"Do you think Ryan will mind?" Brendon asks. 

"Nope," Spencer says. "I called and asked him. He says we can have some of the songs too, if we want them."

Brendon looks puzzled. "I thought he was making music with that guy in Germany. Doesn't he want them?"

"Different sound," Spencer says, shrugging. "Ryan writes songs for different bands, anyway. I thought you knew that's what he did? He says he's got a few more that he thinks we'd sound good playing, too. He's emailing me this one called _Northern Downpour_. "

"Huh," Brendon says. "Awesome."

"Right?" Spencer says. "I'm going to put in for a leave of absence from the office. I talked to Pete about timings, and whatever, and if you're happy then we can record and then you know, put out our album and tour. And we'll be done in time for the fourth movie."

"Yeah," Brendon says, thinking about the script he'd got in the mail yesterday. The one where he didn't get killed off in the first scene, like he'd expected. It was only an early draft, but he was in it right until the end. He didn't want to believe it was true. "Yeah."

"Let's do it, then," Spencer says. "Let's make our husband and husband duo the best husband and husband duo ever."

Brendon just laughs. "We're going to need some touring musicians."

"You've met my friend Dallon, right?" Spencer says. 

"And Shane's got this cousin—"

~*~

Their album - Vices and Virtues - gets some surprisingly good reviews, considering Brendon's just some two-bit actor that the critics probably set out to dislike. Brendon and Spencer are having the best time ever on tour, and they're playing music and being together and people are coming out to see them. Mostly they're kids who liked Brendon in his movies, but more and more the kids know the songs from the album and they're starting to chant _Panic!_ rather than Brendon's name. The tour is going really well. Really, really well, and Pete comes out to see them, and Spencer's friends come out to see them, and Shane travels with them and makes a travelogue and takes a million pictures, and Zack starts working for the band.

And then, it's the last night of the tour and Brendon's keyed up, desperate and anticipatory, adrenaline pumping even before they get on stage. The crowd is really in to them, excited and singing along, and Brendon couldn't have anticipated this kind of support before the tour started, he really couldn't. He pulls Spencer into a kiss before they go on stage, dirty and hard, and when he bounds on stage he's grinning, with his hands in the air. 

When he stops the show, half way through, his heart's beating fit to burst. 

"So," he says, holding his hand up. "I hope you guys don't mind that I'm gonna just talk for a minute." The crowd cheers, and Brendon grins, glancing at Dallon, who winks at him. He doesn't look back at Spencer. "So some of you kids out there might know me from a couple of movies I was kind of involved with -" again, the crowd cheers, and Brendon laughs, how could he not? Nerves somersault in the pit of his belly. "And man, I loved doing those. That was pretty awesome, right? But I was kind of miserable as fuck, you guys, you have no idea. I was kind of a loser. I used to just go home and drink by myself. I know, I know," he shrugs his shoulders, because the wave of noise from the crowd is a little more uncertain now, asking where this is going. 

"Thing is," he goes on, turning around so that he can see Spencer at his drum kit, frozen still and watching him, eyes wide. "Thing is, I met this guy when I was sixteen years old, and man, I fell right in love with him right there and then. You know, he asked me to marry him on my eighteenth birthday." He feels like he's confiding a secret to the crowd, even though everyone knows this part of the story now, everyone. "I was pretty fucking happy, guys," Brendon goes on. "Like, the happiest dude in the fucking world, and when we split up I kind of forgot how to feel like that anymore. I forgot how to do a lot of stuff," and Brendon isn't watching the crowd anymore, has mostly forgotten that they're even there, a wave of sound that barely registers, because his gaze is locked with Spencer's. 

"Anyway," Brendon says, and he feels a little bit like he's going to throw up, he's so fucking nervous, "anyway, when we got married it was just me and Spencer, all by ourselves, and when we got home everyone was so fucking mad with us. They were mad, and we didn't have wedding pictures, and you know what?" he turns to face the crowd again, just for a moment. "Everyone should have wedding pictures, right?" The crowd shouts its approval, and Brendon's gaze flicks to Dallon, and Dallon nods imperceptibly, pulling something out of his pocket. Brendon reaches for it and his hands are shaking, they're fucking _shaking_. "So I'm thinking - and I hope you guys are gonna forgive me for like, interrupting your show for this, but give me a minute -" 

Brendon fumbles the tiny black box in his palm, crossing the stage until he's by the side of Spencer's drum riser. Brendon takes a deep, shaky breath and drops on to one knee. He drops right down onto a taped-down cable, which fucking hurts, but he holds out his hand anyway, black velvet ring box shaking in his palm. "I think you should marry me again, Spencer Smith," he says. "I think you should marry me again, so that we can have actual wedding pictures and a first dance, and fucking _cake_." Last time they'd had McDonalds, and a milkshake with two straws. It was the greatest meal of his life. 

The crowd goes _wild_ , shouting and cheering and the roar of sound is so loud that Brendon can barely breathe. The air is full of the flash of a couple of hundred cameras all taking pictures at once, but Spencer, Spencer hasn't moved. 

"Spence," Brendon says, breathlessly, into the mic. "Say yes."

Spencer drops his drumsticks with a clatter down onto the snare drum, and stands up so suddenly that his stool tumbles backwards. Brendon doesn't even care because Spencer's tugging him up and wrapping his arm around Brendon's waist and tugging him for a desperate, breathless kiss, and the hand holding the microphone drops down by Brendon's side as he kisses him back. 

"I take it that's a yes," Brendon hears Dallon saying dryly, into the mic.

~*~

The first video hits YouTube within the hour.

~*~

[end] 


End file.
